


Knight in Stolen Armor

by hopeless_eccentric



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Non-Binary Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hand Kisses, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Violence, Nonbinary Juno Steel, Other, Princess Not Really Locked In A Tower Juno Steel, Rita is a dragon, Thief Peter Nureyev, a PINK dragon because I say so, and there was only one bed, he's vibing, mentions of Sarah Steel's A+ parenting, romantic tension via swordfights, this is basically vacation for him, what else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25394305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_eccentric/pseuds/hopeless_eccentric
Summary: The tower was a spire of black above the forest, indistinguishable from the surrounding briar to the untrained eye. Whether the stone was dark to begin with or scorched by the great beast within was a much more pressing matter for Peter Nureyev, the armor-clad thief who drew ever closer to the dark monolith and his prize within.Updating daily!!
Relationships: Peter Nureyev & Rita, Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Rita & Juno Steel
Comments: 90
Kudos: 165





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This is already finished, just in the editing process right now!! My google doc for this is titled "shrek 5"
> 
> Content warnings for mentions of skeletons, mentions of carrion, and mentions of kidnapping.

The tower was a spire of black above the forest, indistinguishable from the surrounding briar to the untrained eye. Whether the stone was dark to begin with or scorched by the great beast within was a much more pressing matter for Peter Nureyev, the armor-clad thief who drew ever closer to the dark monolith and his prize within. 

He might have fought through the brambles and twisting trees for weeks, or he might have only been within the forest’s tangled grasp for hours. Time itself drags its feet when one walks through hell on the way to a destination far deadlier. Though the open air surrounding the base of the tower was a relief after the oppressive shifting of deadly creatures on all sides, Nureyev knew his trials had only just begun. 

While the majority of the tower’s base was in the grasp of a crawling ivy, a patch had been blasted away. The silhouette of a knight, sword in hand, was scorched into the stone. 

Peter wondered who that used to be. 

He had timed the heist well, and upon hearing a tired hiss from the tower’s depths, he thanked whichever God might still be looking out for him that the dragon was likely sleeping. Peter hadn’t come to slay it, after all, though a hand remained on his sword just in case. 

The beast within the tower was as storied as the old building itself. Legend, or at least the official report set out by the palace guard, said the creature was a rogue military dragon who spirited away a princess in the dead of night. Two decades ago, the prize for the princess’s safe return home had been his hand in marriage. While the offer still technically stood, the queen who had made it was long dead. Besides, two decades was a very long time to go uneaten. 

Nureyev took a deep breath and scanned the scene. The clearing itself was the direct opposite of the surrounding forest, as if whatever curse had drawn the brambles tight and the dark spire high had missed a spot. 

The early morning light shone into the grassy clearing in a way Nureyev had only ever seen before in paintings. The beams of sun floated through the air lazily, like bumble bees bumping into windows and walls in search of flowers. The glossy green of the grass was only broken by the white and purple of clover.

Strangest of all, a clothesline danced in the gentle breeze. It was strung between a low window of the tower and a particularly tall shrub that had clawed its way away from the rest of the dark forest.

It had to be a trap, but Nureyev had to move forward regardless. He was running out of time. Low, dark clouds had been chasing him for his entire journey through the forest, and he doubted his armor would do much good soaking wet. His research had shown the kingdom of Hyperion to be wedged between a desert and the sea. However, he had failed to plan for the kind of vicious weather that might sink its teeth into the shore. 

Nureyev crept within the shadow of the trees as long as he could, circling the tower’s base in search of an entrance. When his eyes fell upon a hole in the wall, gaping like an open wound, he added it to his mental list of entrance plans. He would decide which course of action to take when he had explored every option. 

The dark clouds above snarled and ozone hung so thick in the air he could taste it. Unfortunately, it seemed his course of action had already been decided for him. 

His hand tightened upon his sword as he ducked through the gap, glad to have left the louder of his piecemeal armor behind. His heart was racing so hard he could almost hear it echoing within his stolen breastplate. 

Upon first observance, the tower’s interior looked like a cathedral. Its doorways and buttresses and single winding staircase swirled up from the bottom of the structure, all backed into the wall by the cavernous space at the building’s center. 

When Nureyev blinked, shook his head, and looked once more at the dizzying architecture above him, it was like looking up through the eye of a hurricane. As much as he wanted to ponder the building’s structure, the fear seeming to pin the staircase to the wall had shoved him to the outskirts of the room as well. 

A sound like a thousand sharpening swords echoed off the stone as something within the building’s center shifted. It seemed Nureyev had company. 

In the center of the room, a heaping mound of objects too varied and strange for him to make out stood the height of a mountain. Atop the pile, or at least as far as Nureyev could see, the dragon’s tail lazed over a stack of scrolls. He found the origin of that noise in its swishing, feeling every rasping scratch of scales upon parchment in his ears like a physical blow. 

The thunder roared once more, and the dragon’s tail twitched in response. 

If Nureyev didn’t want to be made into a dinner roast, he had to get moving. 

Armor had been a bad idea, even if it was minimal. He did not know how well dragons were able to hear, but even the smallest creak of his greaves as he crept up the stairs felt like the clashing of cymbals. Half to ease his mind, and half to plot hiding places, he kept his eyes on the rooms along the staircase. 

Every few dozen feet, the stairs paused in their seemingly eternal ascent. Here, a landing and an arch would announce the presence of a small room built into the tower’s outer wall. They seemed easy enough hiding spots, as he doubted a beast with a tail that large would have a single appendage that could fit through a door too short for even Nureyev. Despite the brevity of his glances, he could tell the rooms so far were threadbare in decor and often only held animal carcasses.

His best guess for the rooms’ usage was as storage, though that did little to settle his fears. He would take an unintelligent brute of a beast any day over a dragon who liked to organize. Enough research had told him that if a man-eating creature were to show such humanlike traits, it was far more likely to play with its food. 

On the one hand, he could die a very slow and painful death. On the other, he might run across a body. Neither sounded particularly pleasant, and he felt his skin crawl in response to the thought. For all he knew, any bead of sweat down his neck could have been a worm or fly attracted by the carrion. 

Worst of all, this specific dragon was famous for slaying knights, and he had yet to see a single one. A horrible part of him feared some kind of organized display further into the tower. Arranged skeletons picked clean and white would grin up at him, beckoning him as their next member while he felt the air behind him grow hot. 

Nureyev shook his head. Letting his imagination run wild was about the least helpful thing he could do right now. 

He ducked into the nearest room when he heard the creature stir, its mere shifting causing the earth below to wince and shudder. Nureyev thought each talon must have been as tall as he was for such a sound to be unleashed. His hands gripped crevasses in the stone for dear life as he felt those mighty steps draw closer. 

When the creature let out a roar so loud he feared for the safety of his eardrums, he had half a mind to pray. 

The sound passed however, leaving his head spinning as he waited for the beast to return to wherever it might have been napping before. As he let his heart rate settle, he gave the room around him a quick look. 

No storage. No bodies. Just a chair and a half empty mug of what looked like tea on a roughly hewn table. 

Nureyev walked towards it on liquid legs, one hand bracing himself against the table as he grew close. The other hand closed around the cup. It was too small for a dragon to use, and given the volume of its footsteps, he also doubted the dragon could fit through the doorway to place the mug there. That wasn’t his greatest concern, however.

The mug was still warm. 

Peter decided he would worry about that at a later date, returning the mug to the table as quickly as he could without making a sound. He hurried back to the staircase, his mind laser focused on the timing of his steps and just how to move so the dragon would not hear a single motion. He was regretting his helmet already, though he refused to sacrifice head protection for a wider range of vision. If the dragon was coming for him, he would hear it before he saw it. 

“In case you didn’t hear me the first time, your time’s up!” the dragon cried, voice oddly high and squeaky for a beast of its size. 

Nureyev’s heart sank, grip tightening on his sword. He didn’t want it to come to this, but he was afraid this very well might be where he died, just another stain on the wall like the knight whose shadow would forever adorn the base of the tower. 

He drew his sword with a white-knuckled grip, turning to the stairs to see if he still had any chance to duck into the next nearest room. 

What greeted him, however, was not the dragon, nor was it one of the many corpses he had so feared. 

A human, face covered by some sort of skincare paste and eyes shielded behind cucumber slices, was walking down the stairs, hands in his pockets and not a care in his step. He paused about half a dozen steps from Nureyev, popped the cucumber slices into his mouth, and shot him a pointed glare. 

Before Nureyev could let out so much as a disbelieving squawk, the bathrobe-clad stranger rolled his eyes. 

“Rita!” the stranger called, pausing to chew the cucumbers before he continued. “You let another one in again!” 

“Rita?” was all Nureyev could manage to stutter. 

“Shut up.”

“Well, sorry! I was getting to that one really really good part of Night of the Living Werewolf Bards Six and—“ the dragon, who Nureyev assumed must be Rita, began to ramble. The stranger groaned, then shook his head. 

“Don’t—” he sighed, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got ‘em.”

It was only then Nureyev realized the stranger had drawn a sword.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. Two chapters in one day. Oops!
> 
> Content warnings for mentions of blood, mentions of a minor injury, sword fighting, mentions of abusive parents, minor violence

Juno was having a fairly good morning until the asshole showed up. 

His morning usually started with the same familiar trembling of the tower shaking him awake. Rita was an alarm clock of sorts. She stuck her tail out the door to hunt for the day’s meals at just about the same time every day, unless she had a cold. And if she had a cold, Juno was already awake and making her tea. 

When his own mother carted him off to the tower in the hopes he’d either be married or eaten, he doubted she had even considered what the actual outcome would be. 

After half a week spent staring at his window, trying to feel anything at all, the dragon knocked on his door with one enormous, scaly knuckle and said there was no point in the two of them being stuck together for all this time if they weren’t going to be best friends. 

The first three days, the dragon whose name he learned was Rita tossed roasted quail and rabbit through his window when the heavy wooden door remained shut. On the fourth day, she slid food through the open doorway on a plate. She’d even carved out a rock to act as a cup. It was more of a bowl, but Juno couldn’t find it in him to complain. It was the first genuinely nice thing someone had done for him since his brother died. 

Eventually, Juno got tired of Rita doing all the work and learned how to cook whatever edible forest creatures she brought back from her hunting.

He didn’t know how much you could call whacking whatever animals came close to the tower ‘hunting,’ but food was food. Rita would just stick her tail out the hole in the wall and bonk whatever unfortunate creature wandered into the clearing. It usually worked, unless she became particularly engrossed in one of the epic poems she collected. 

Juno probably would have had more trouble getting used to his roommate being a dragon if she hadn’t been most pleasant than most humans he knew. While the queen and her inner circle seemed hellbent on getting rid of both the quarrelsome princess and the least obedient military dragon in one fell swoop, said dragon hoarded teacups and cried like a baby when the Bard’s sister died in Night of the Living Werewolf Bards Four. When Night of the Living Werewolf Bards Five ended in a particularly nasty cliffhanger, Juno stayed up for hours listening to her theories and positing his own. 

Despite the rocky start, Juno began to mind being circumstantially stuck in a tower less and less. 

Rita had been the first to suggest Juno just leave. She didn’t care enough about her job to watch him, and for all the citizens of Hyperion knew, she could have just gotten hungry. 

“I made a people door and everything, boss,” Rita had offered, voice quiet and almost human in volume. However, that could have just been Juno’s hearing loss from before she had started trying to talk a little more on his level. “I’ve been using it to whack all those birds I keep getting for dinner, but I could probably get my tail outta there if you just wanted to go.”

Juno, nearly twenty years younger at the time, had shaken his head.

“If I leave, I’m just getting married off to the first asshole with a sword who sees me. Better to just stay put,” Juno sighed. 

“Well, I guess that ain’t half bad, is it?” Rita mused, setting down her massive scroll for what seemed to be the first time all day.

Juno raised an eyebrow. 

“I mean, the queen put you in here for not wanting to get married, so if someone rescues you, they get to marry you, right?” she continued. 

“Yeah?”

“Well, if nobody can rescue you, you don’t have to marry nobody. So you can stay in here until they all give up and go home.”

“Rita,” he began, disbelieving. “Are you offering to eat my suitors?”

Rita shuddered. “No offense, boss, but I don’t think you humans taste too good. I might just have to toast ‘em or yell at ‘em real loud instead.”

Juno snorted. “Cut the ‘boss’ crap. I’m as much a princess as you are a military dragon anymore.”

“How do you feel about Mistah Steel, then?” Rita grinned. It had taken Juno a few moments to recognize the expression, all white teeth as long as his arm and pink scales drawn into an odd shape. However, it had clicked when he realized the expression often coaxed a smile from him too. 

“Mister Steel, huh? I think I could get used to that,” he said. 

He was far, far away from home. And he was content with that. 

So when some thief with a mouth barged into his tower before he’d even finished his morning tea, it was safe to say Juno was a little bit pissed. 

“What the hell do you want? It’s like nine in the morning,” Juno spat, watching the stranger reel from the appearance of his sword. He didn’t like dueling in his bathrobe, and he liked dueling in a facemask significantly less. However, if this asshole was barging in here to slay Rita, he would have to deal with how little he enjoyed the details of her defense later. 

The thief struck first, despite being on lower ground. Juno had to admit he was pretty good, though the armor seemed to be slowing him down. The man didn’t usually fight with this much plating on, that much was clear. 

Juno parried, though he was unable to throw the thief off long enough to kick him down the extensively winding stairs. 

“I’m afraid if our acquaintance is to be a pleasant one, I should rather not tell you,” the thief retorted, attacking from above and below and parrying each strike with impressive speed and force. 

Juno’s heart raced a little at the sound of his voice. As bored as he had become with suitors and wannabe dragon slayers, a proper duel against a gentleman thief with a pleasant voice was far more fun than it should be. He dodged a strike and forced his mind back onto what was important. 

“You’re not gonna lay a finger on her.”

“I had no intention of doing such,” the man returned between strikes. “In fact, I was rather hoping to avoid any encounters with the dragon altogether.”

Juno raised an eyebrow, though in the flurry of swords that followed, he doubted his adversary caught it. They were close now, only a handful of inches and two blades apart. He could almost catch the man’s eye through his helmet, though all he gleaned before he was pushed away was that his eyes were dark and sharp. 

“Then what the hell are you here to steal?” he shot back. The thief’s sword very nearly collided with his neck, but Juno was fast enough to spin the other way. 

“I would love to tell you,” the thief began. Juno could practically hear the smug smile in his voice when he found his position flipped, no longer walking the thief down the spiraling stairs. He had lost the high ground. “But I fear that would rather ruin my operation. You seem quite protective of your dragon, so whatever I may or may not be stealing from her will have to remain my secret.”

A sudden indignance took hold of him. Juno struck wildly, and he couldn’t care less if he was injured in the process. He pressed a slipper-clad foot to the center of the thief’s chestplate and kicked. 

The armor smashed into the stone stairs with the sound of a hundred tumbling cooking pans, probably jarring the thief more than the actual fall did. A victorious leer crossed Juno’s face when the thief gasped. 

Before the stranger could manage to pull himself together, Juno kicked his helmet away unceremoniously. He couldn’t care less if the metal had hit his head on the way off. He almost hoped it did. All he cared about was that his blade was mere inches above the stranger’s face, so close that a shift in his grasp had cut a thin red line along the man’s cheekbone.

“I’ll ask you again,” Juno began, pressing his foot a little harder into the man’s neck and staring down the end of his blade. “What the hell do you want here?”

It was very hard to focus on the thief’s answer with his helmet off. 

His hair was dark and tousled by both the helmet and the sweat he had broken during their duel. The thief seemed to be panting as hard as Juno was, and though his heaving chest was hidden behind the breastplate, his face, somehow both soft and angular, carried an exerted flush so delicate Juno might have thought it painted by hand. 

Juno’s eyes, however, were drawn to his mouth. The thief’s soft lips were parted in his panting, revealing pointed teeth that made it very difficult to focus on anything at all, let alone interrogating him. 

As much as his fury at the man’s transgression against his friend kept the sword in place, the sight of such a lovely face made Juno almost upset he had marred it with the stroke of his blade. 

“The crown jewels,” the stranger admitted between gasps. The sound of his once cocky voice rendered breathless was doing an embarrassing amount of things to Juno. 

“Why?” Juno pressed. The thief was silent for a moment, so he poked his nose with the blunt edge of the sword. 

“Money. And I thought if I ingratiated myself to the regent, perhaps by returning the pieces lost when Princess Juno died, I would be given an opportunity to—well—” the thief broke off to chuckle. “Steal more of them.”

“What the hell do you mean by regent?”

“Interim ruler, stand-in authority figure, I have euphemisms to go around,” the thief mused, flashing an impossibly sharp smile behind those graceful lips. 

“What happened to the queen?” Juno demanded.

“A decade dead of the bloody flux. My God, when was the last time you left this tower?”

Juno swallowed. He returned his sword to its sheath. 

“So long as you’re not taking anything of Rita’s,” he began, trailing off to take a better look at the thief without two and a half feet of metal pressed into his face. The blood from his tiny injury was beginning to caress the curve of his cheek. Something twisted in Juno’s stomach, and he was almost certain it wasn’t disgust at the injury. Perhaps it was the residual heat of battle that made his head spin, and perhaps the man was feeling it as well. His pupils were blown wide. Juno spent so long trying to ignore it that he forgot to finish his sentence. 

“Yes?” the thief prompted, shocking Juno back to reality. 

“I’ll show you where they are. I’m not the biggest fan of the royal family either,” he explained all too quickly. 

Juno offered the man a hand to stand up, a little jarred by the strength of the clever fingers that hooked around his own. 

“Boss!” a voice from deep within the cavern cried. It was only then a very large, very pink, and very scaly head emerged from below. A decorative teacup hung around one of her horns, and Juno was almost certain it was from falling asleep in an odd position while reading. “You can’t kick this gentleman out this early in the morning! He ain’t even stealing something you want, and I think it’s only fair he stays for breakfast if you’re just gonna try and kill him like that.”

The thief didn’t look like he had it in him to argue with such a creature, and frankly, Juno couldn’t blame him. 

“Fine. Hope you like squirrel...whatever your name is,” Juno groaned, reaching into the closest room for a towel he kept by the door. “Goddammit, I probably kept this facemask on for twice as long as I was supposed to,” he added, more to himself than anyone else.

“I—“ the stranger broke off, chewing his lip intently. “I don’t usually give my name to those who try to kill me, but you may call me Peter Nureyev. What might I call you, my lady?”

Juno groaned. 

“Cut the chivalry. I’m sick to hell of knights.”

“Fascinating name. I don’t think I’ve heard the likes of it before.”

Juno rolled his eyes. “Juno Steel. If you put a title in front of it, I’ll gut you for real this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been told this has shrek vibes. It's about to get princess bride-y so uh. enjoy
> 
> Anyway, thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to smash that kudos button, leave a comment below, and don't forget to stay awesome!!!!
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric !!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh no dont get your face injured your to sexy ahahaha
> 
> Content warnings: minor injury, mentions of isolation, mentions of propaganda, mentions of abusive parents, mentions of kidnapping 
> 
> Ngl content wise this one is pretty light

“I apologize in advance if this is an impolite question. I must say, I am not well-versed in dragon etiquette,” Nureyev began, poking his food once or twice before deciding it edible. “But if you have all these teacups, why are there only mugs in the kitchen?”

Across the table, Juno rolled his eyes. 

“You’re opening a can of worms, Nureyev,” he murmured. 

“OOH!” Rita cried, her claws clapping together and shoulders twisting, as if she were an athlete warming up, rather than a dragon given an opportunity to discuss her favorite teacups. “You’re so polite, Mistah Thief.”

“Why thank you.”

“I don’t care about no other cups, Mistah Thief. Just teacups. They’re so little and cute and—” she broke off to dive into her mountainous hoard as if it were a swimming pool. The movement was so jarring Peter wondered if it would bring the whole tower down. When Rita emerged once more, her talon was poking through the doorway with a porcelain teacup hanging off the end, looking miniscule next to such a claw. “Look at this one! You can’t tell me it ain’t just the sweetest little thing you’ve ever seen.”

Nureyev had to admit it was pretty cute. A pair of bears in matching polka dotted dresses appeared to be doing a country dance. Their elbows were locked halfway through a wild spin while a frog in a checkered shirt played the fiddle. 

“I think it’s quite lovely,” he smiled. Juno, who had apparently seen the cup a hundred times before, groaned, though his look of annoyance was unconvincing. He kept hiding his face behind his empty mug to fight a smile. 

“Mistah Steel, are you sure we can’t keep him? You humans are so cute when you’re polite,” she beamed, or at least Nureyev thought she beamed. He couldn’t see much through the open stone archway, but he certainly could see a lot of teeth. 

“I’m not taking someone prisoner just because you think he’s—” Juno broke off, as if the next word made him feel a little queasy. “Cute.”

“Please? I ain’t even mad at him no more, he wasn’t trying to steal any of my stuff.”

Juno sighed. 

“If it makes you happy—” 

Rita’s celebratory whoop cut off the rest of his sentence. 

“Just long enough to patch that cut up. Don’t get excited,” Juno finished. 

“I look forward to spending any amount of time with you, my lady,” Nureyev grinned. Juno rolled his eyes. 

Smiles came naturally to Peter. He kept a handful of different ones, all perfected in front of a mirror, in his back pocket. He never knew which one he might need, or which one might sway a certain person a certain way. They were as much a tool of the trade as his sword or practiced sleight of hand.

But when sitting across the table from the loveliest glare he had seen in his entire life, the smile bloomed of its own accord. For several seconds, he barely realized it was there at all. 

Juno Steel was an enigma. All Nureyev knew about him were the basics of the tragic tale that seemed to be hardly a tragedy at all, yet he had pictured someone who knew the finer things in life and would accept nothing else. He expected soft hands and expensive clothes and a painted face. 

Yet here was a lady whose face was a patchwork of scars and whose hands bore the callouses of the working class. The only robe adorning him was unrefined cloth, floral sleepwear peeking out from the sloping collar. If Nureyev had to guess, Juno made it himself. 

Even now, with his brow furrowed and his jaw set in annoyance, he was beautiful. As far as Nureyev was concerned, the world itself was brought into being just so Juno Steel could exist in it. His eyes were warm and dark and soft and so distracting that Nureyev barely managed to notice when Juno stood and beckoned for him to follow. 

“Come on. The medicine cabinet’s upstairs,” Juno said, his thumb pointing over his shoulder. 

The stone of the spire itself seemed to lighten when Juno passed through it, though that may have been the further rising of the sun. It also helped Nureyev’s mood to know the dragon at the tower’s center found him cute, rather than delicious. It might have been the strangest compliment he ever received, but he would certainly take it. 

“May I just ask,” he began. “Why is it that you seem to be so close with your captor?”

Up ahead, Juno laughed, the sound so soft and pleasant that Nureyev had to focus not to miss a step. 

“She hoards teacups, Nureyev. How can you dislike that?”

Nureyev chuckled. “Are you sure you don’t want to be rescued?”

“Positive. You’re not even a knight,” Juno snorted. 

“What?”

“Royals in Hyperion all go through military training. I know foreign armor when I see it, even if it’s just for questing knights. Your breastplate might be from Hyperion, but your greaves are Brahman. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one in person, but I’m almost positive that helmet’s from Cyberia.”

Peter swallowed. 

“I had to pick and choose the quietest pieces,” he explained. “This was one instance in which I was forced to choose function over aesthetic, though I must say I usually favor the latter.”

“Rita only let you in because she was at a good part in her scroll,” Juno said. “She almost forgot to tell me I had the facemask on for too long.”

“That would explain the roaring.”

Juno paused at the first room Peter had seen so far that had a door. It was a heavy oak, braced by iron. Juno pushed it open with hardly any strain, though Nureyev certainly didn’t miss the way the muscles in his forearms flexed. He would have spared a thought for where someone trapped in a tower worked out, but his brain didn’t seem to be entirely functioning at the moment. 

Only when Juno entered the room, a nod beckoning Nureyev to follow, did Peter think to move. 

A large, glass window lay open on the far wall, overlooking the clothesline a story below. After the semi-darkness of the stairway before, the warm morning glow was almost blinding. When his eyes adjusted and he could see more than just the window, he found it piled high with plants, dried or fresh or still growing in various pots. 

“This is the plant room,” Juno explained. 

“I gathered that much,” Nureyev began, still blinking away spots in his eyes. “What is it for?”

“Plants.”

“I should’ve seen that coming. More specifically, why are we here?”

“Sit down, and I’ll show you.”

Nureyev made his way over to a chair, which seemed to be of the same wood as the furniture in the kitchen. That would explain Juno’s working hands well enough, especially if he had furnished the majority of the tower himself. He sat and watched as Juno picked a handful of plants from the various piles and got to work with a mortar and pestle. 

“What’s that?”

“Nothing special, really,” Juno started, returning to Nureyev’s side with the mortar and an armful of other bowls and swaths of fabric. “It just makes minor injuries heal a little faster. It’ll cut down the risk of infection, especially if you’re gonna be going through there.” He gestured out the window. 

“Ah, I see,” Nureyev said. He had opened his mouth to ask a question when he was stopped by the feeling of a wet cloth on his cheek. 

“Hold still. This might sting,” Juno murmured through teeth gritted by focus. 

Peter was finding it difficult to say much with Juno’s face mere inches from his. There were a half dozen more scars he hadn’t noticed from afar, each of them another brushstroke on the masterpiece before him. It was the kind of face that made his knees weak and his mind curious all at once, and when Juno drew away to reach for something else, Peter felt like he had dragged away a part of him too. 

When Juno returned, he clutched the mortar in one hand. The other was busy destroying Nureyev’s ability to function by running a pair of fingers along his cheekbone. 

The touch stung a little, though only in that it was pressure on a fresh wound. It helped that he was thoroughly distracted by the way Juno’s fingers pressed into his cheek and jaw for stability while his index and middle finger applied the medicine. One digit almost brushed his lips. 

“Focus, Steel,” Juno murmured to himself. “So goddamn stupid.”

“What was that?”

“Can’t a lady talk to himself in peace? Hold still,” Juno shot back, so close his breath tickled Nureyev’s neck. It took all his self control not to shiver. 

When Juno’s hand left his face, Nureyev realized he hadn’t been breathing. There was far less direct contact when Juno applied the cloth bandage, though Peter found it made his heart race all the same.

Every once in a while, Juno would pause, swallow, and shake his head. Nureyev wondered if he was feeling the exact same way. 

“There you go,” Juno sighed, as if some great ordeal was over. 

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. You’re the first guy in two decades who’s ever been polite to Rita. I don’t have a problem making an exception for you,” Juno shrugged. 

“Yes, I was curious about that. If you don’t mind me asking,” Nureyev began. “Why is it, exactly, that you two get along so well?”

“She’s as stuck in here as I am. I was—” he broke off with a concentrated look, as if trying to find the kindest words possible to express an unpleasant thought. “I wasn’t in a great place after mom kicked me out. Rita threw roasted pheasant in through my window until I opened the door and let her talk to me.”

“Your mother—what?”

Juno groaned. 

“God, I forgot about her propaganda minister. What’s the general consensus for—” Juno paused, gesturing vaguely. “Why I’m here.”

“All the official documents say that a rogue military dragon with a vendetta against the royal family took you away in the middle of the night,” Nureyev recounted. Juno looked almost ready to laugh. 

“Yeah, no way. Rita cried once because she saw a baby lizard.”

Peter frowned. “What about that knight burned into the tower?”

“She only roasts assholes. Back before we decided it had been long enough to say that she’d eaten me, I’d yell out the window that I didn’t want to get married, she’d say they had better respect my wishes or they’d get fried, and then if they didn’t turn around and leave, she would have to take matters into her own hands,” Juno explained, pausing thoughtfully. “Her own claws?”

“So, I’m assuming Rita didn’t kidnap you, then?”

“Nope. They were just killing two birds with one stone. She was in the military, but wouldn’t kill people she didn’t want to kill. Dear old mom wanted me dead since before I could remember, but couldn’t afford a scandal. She didn’t want either of us around, so she got rid of us both,” Juno said. 

“If she strays far from the tower, she’ll face punishment from Hyperion’s military, and if you leave—”

“I have to get hitched to the first douchebag with a sword who says he saved me. Right.”

“Do I count in that number?” Nureyev mused. 

Juno rolled his eyes and jumped up on the nearest table piled high with flowers. He sat with a comfortable slouch, ankles crossed together and swinging. 

“Depends. You came here after a couple of necklaces, not my hand in marriage, so I’d say no. But it’s pretty close. You did try to stab me.”

“Juno,” Nureyev teased, trying his best not to falter when he realized how sweet that word tasted on his lips. “You tried to stab me first.”

“It’s rude to go after a lady before he’s even dressed. I’m still indecent, thanks to you,” Juno said, feigning offense. 

“If I’m remembering correctly, you injured me,” Peter chuckled. 

“You couldn’t call that an injury if you wanted to.”

“I don’t know, you certainly spent a lot of time wrapping it.”

Juno rolled his eyes, though his face darkened with a blush he had evidently failed to suppress.

“Have you considered that maybe living in a tower for twenty years makes you a little touch starved?” Juno shot back, though his voice cracked so thoroughly that Nureyev had to fight back a laugh. “There was a hermit about a quarter mile from here, but then he just had to go and win the lottery and move to a nicer part of the evil forest.”

“My apologies. I certainly wasn’t complaining.”

Nureyev’s heart raced a little at just how high Juno’s voice had gone. Perhaps he wasn’t alone in the sudden rush of nerves to his brain every time he made to speak. 

Juno opened and closed his mouth several times, though it seemed Nureyev had accidentally stolen all his words away. Before he could force some excuse or apology from his lips, however, the sky outside rumbled and split with a cacophonous crack. The rain that had threatened to soak Peter’s armor finally let loose over the tower.

“Every time I try to do laundry,” Juno groaned, shaking his head down at the soaked skirt that hung upon the clothesline. 

“I can stay to help you redo the load. I don’t see any point in trying to travel through the storm anyway,” Nureyev offered. For a moment, Juno’s face went soft. Peter’s heart skipped a beat. 

“I wasn’t gonna let you go, anyway. Your face is gonna get infected,” he returned. 

Despite the beating percussion of the rain against the roof far above, Nureyev couldn’t help stopping to appreciate the beauty of the scene. Juno was a vision in graying cloth, the light of the stormy yellow sky anointing him. It was a blessing to see such a goddess up close.

After a long moment, Juno sighed and spoke once more. 

“I’ll go ask Rita if she’s okay hunting for three,” he said, then turned to stick his head out the door and into the tower’s center. 

The room seemed darker without Juno in it, though Nureyev couldn’t help a smile at the sound of his voice echoing in the hall. 

“Rita!” he called. 

“Are we keeping him?” Rita almost squealed before Juno could so much as finish his thought. 

Juno groaned. 

“Just through the storm!” he yelled back. Rita’s excited rambling was muffled as Juno closed the door behind him and turned back to Nureyev. 

“Is that a yes?” he tried his best to ask without sounding too giddy.

“Sure. Yeah. Whatever,” Juno returned. Peter suspected he was trying to do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew!! We love gay pining
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! Make sure to smash that kudos button, leave a comment down below, and don't forget to stay awesome!!
> 
> Yell at me on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric !!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No content warnings for this one!! Pretty light chapter :D

“Sorry there’s not much space. It’ll take longer than it’s worth to make another bed,” Juno explained, face hot and gaze firmly on the floor. He didn’t want to see Nureyev’s smug expression at how damn flustered this whole conversation was making him. 

“I’ve slept in far worse places, I assure you,” Peter returned. Even if Juno couldn’t see that smirk, he could definitely hear it. “And I certainly wouldn’t mind more of your company.”

Juno felt like he was going to die. 

“If I may ask,” Nureyev began once more. Changing the subject might have been the nicest thing he’d done all afternoon. “How does one get a bed to the top of such a tower in the first place?”

Juno exhaled, the question giving him time to regain his composure. “I dunno. It came with the tower.”

“I assume the rest of the carpentry was your work,” Nureyev mused, sparing Juno the burden of his gaze when he took a seat on the window’s ledge to watch the storm. “You’ve done quite the lovely job, may I add.”

“Yeah. You’d be surprised how many knights pack saws,” Juno snorted. He took a seat, the bed sinking below him as his eyes fixed on the window as well. 

The rain continued to pour outside of where the stained glass window was cracked ajar. Juno couldn’t decide if he wanted it to stay forever or never come back. He certainly didn’t mind the company, especially when it was Nureyev instead of the cranky hermit who would yell at him for calling a plant the wrong name. Even if the hermit had taught him enough medicine to survive, he did little to fill the void of human company. 

The problem with Nureyev was the feeling Juno got in his chest when his eyes lingered on his jaw or lips or hands for just a moment too long. The feeling would blaze and blossom when Peter caught him looking, leaving him dazed and confused and a little bit scared of himself. 

Juno knew exactly what it was. He also knew it was best to kill it early. 

“God,” he groaned, forcing his mind elsewhere. “This is gonna tear my vegetable garden to shreds.”

Nureyev turned from the window to face him. It was getting harder and harder to pry his mind from the way his heart skipped a beat just at the sight of him. Peter had the nerve to look even nicer when he shed his armor, revealing a form of long, graceful lines like that of a dancer. Juno wouldn’t have been surprised if Nureyev was never born at all and merely sprung fully formed from an artist’s sketchbook. 

“I’m sorry about your garden,” Peter frowned. Even the crease of concern across his brow was like a fold in an emperor’s cape, rather than a mere line on a face. “Might I offer my assistance?”

“Too late now. It’s too early in the season for anything to take root, so I think the seeds are just gonna wash away,” Juno sighed. 

“Perhaps you could plant them once the ground becomes firm again.”

Juno shook his head. 

“I guess we’ll have to see. This kind of weather takes longer to recover from, though,” he returned. 

“I must admit, I feel a bit guilty staying here—sleeping in your own bed, even—without offering to help, especially during such a storm,” Nureyev pressed. 

Juno sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to suffocate that thing in his chest that made him shaky and nervous and just stupid enough to enjoy it. 

He knew he couldn’t get attached. As soon as the storm passed, Nureyev would take the crown jewels and leave to go charm some other person into giving him refuge and their valuables and their heart on a silver platter. 

That warmth in his chest refused to die. 

“If you want me to make you run my errands, I can make you run my errands,” Juno finally sighed. 

“Oh dear God, no. Not in this weather.”

The joke made Juno feel a little bit more like himself. He couldn’t help a smile.

“Do I really look like the kind of lady who’d make you run into town to get me a cup of sugar?” he snorted. 

“Then what, pray tell, would you have me do?” 

Juno thought for a moment. 

“There’s a loose beam up by the ceiling. I’ve been meaning to re-enforce it for months, but I’ve been putting it off until I can make a taller chair to stand on,” he began. “It’s not a hard job, anybody with a hammer and nails could do it.”

“Anybody half a foot taller than you, you mean,” Nureyev grinned. 

“Shut up,” Juno almost laughed. He hadn’t meant to sound that affectionate. “So, do you think you could do that for me?”

“I don’t see a reason why not.”

. . .

“You’ve got to—”Juno broke off with a groan. 

“Juno,” Nureyev started, teeth gritted around the nails he was storing there. “If you want me to fix this beam, you ought to just let me fix the beam.”

“Well, if you’re gonna keep breaking all my nails, I think I’ve got the right to be a little pissed.”

“I’m doing you a favor, Juno,” Peter huffed. From the depths of the tower, Juno thought he heard Rita groan and bury her head in a mound of teacups. 

“Not very well, you’re not,” Juno shot back. Nureyev turned on the chair and spat the nails into his palm to have free range of his mouth while arguing. 

“If you want me to do this right, you have to help me. My only job experience other than robbing petulant princesses is serfdom.” 

Juno raised his hands in mock surrender. “Oh no, he took the nails out of his mouth. This must be serious.”

“Oh, spare me the theatrics.”

“Theatrics? You—” Juno’s near-yell fell away into a resigned groan. “Fine. If you want my help, you’re getting my help. Give me a hand up.”

“Dear God, get a doctor, he’s forgotten how to stand.”

Juno rolled his eyes as he climbed onto the chair without assistance. Times like these, he was really thankful that whatever asshole who designed this tower left in a top floor for maintenance purposes. 

The seat of the chair on which they stood had been designed for the purpose of sitting, rather than supporting two people trying to argue and fix a roofing beam at the same time. Nureyev made focusing hard enough just standing around, let alone pressed into Juno’s back. Juno genuinely thought he would fall off when one arm hooked around his chest for balance. 

It was getting harder and harder to think about beams and roofing supports with Nureyev’s clever fingers digging into his clavicle, his hips pressed into his lower back, and his breath hot on his neck. 

“Could you, perhaps, demonstrate just how I should twist my arm?” Peter asked innocently. If he was as distracted as Juno felt, he didn’t show it. However, Juno was almost certain the absentminded lines Nureyev traced along his collarbone weren’t nearly as accidental as they seemed. 

Only when Juno paused to swallow did he realize his mouth had been ajar, eyes fixed on the bolt of Nureyev’s jaw, rather than the hand which held the hammer. 

“I—” he broke off, shaking his head and forcing himself to focus. “Try twisting it a little to the right?”

“Like this?”

Juno shook his head. Peter readjusted several times, though none of the angles were quite correct. He had really hoped it wouldn’t have to come to this. 

“Here, let me show you,” Juno murmured, hand folding around Nureyev’s wrist and twisting it into just the right spot. His hand might as well have been struck by the storm that raged above them, for a jolt coursed through his entire body at just the subtle touch. “Just like that.”

Nureyev’s brow furrowed as he moved the hammer as directed. The nail went into the beam with a solid thunk, and his face broke into a relieved smile. 

“That was good,” Juno encouraged, and he couldn’t help but smile himself. He couldn’t remember when he’d broken a sweat just standing there, but the hand around Nureyev’s wrist had already become clammy. “Just keep doing that.”

He brought his hand back to his side, the loss of the tiny touch like physical pain. He hadn’t even noticed how tangled their legs had become until he stepped off the chair entirely, feeling quite cold without Nureyev’s body heat so close to his own. 

Peter finished his work on the beam soon after, and had turned to jump off the chair when he paused, eyes fixed on Juno’s outstretched hand. 

“It’s a little bit of a drop,” Juno managed to say without stuttering too much. 

“Why, thank you,” Peter all but beamed. He took Juno’s hand, but barely pressed any of his own weight into it. 

“Say, Nureyev, have you ever danced?” Juno mused as Peter lighted himself upon the ground at his side. 

“Occasionally. I’ve infiltrated a ball or two in my time,” he returned. “Why?”

Nureyev had yet to drop Juno’s hand. Juno couldn’t even force himself to mind. 

“A lady notices when someone takes his hand without putting any weight on it. Anybody else would just about break my wrist.”

“It’s a pity you were trained for a military position, rather than Investigator General,” Nureyev chuckled. Juno thought it was a tragedy when the sound trailed off into the hum of the rain above. 

“If I were the Investigator General, I’m pretty sure you’d be in jail right now.”

“You underestimate yourself, Juno. It’s far more likely that I would have been beheaded by now.”

Juno snorted. “Is the current guy that much of a loser?”

“Not really,” Nureyev began, leading Juno back to the stairs as if leading his partner to the dancefloor for a minuet. “He just pales in comparison to you, my lady.”

Juno rolled his eyes at the nickname. 

“Do you call every noble you meet that?”

Nureyev returned the comment with a grin that nearly made Juno trip. 

“Only the ones worth knowing.”

Before Juno could manage to internalize that, Nureyev paused at the top of the stairs. “I’m afraid I must away,” he sighed, with a bow of his head that Juno should have realistically found annoying as all hell. However, Peter’s lips were on the back of his hand and their eyes were locked together and Juno couldn’t focus on anything but the spot that had connected them for that mournfully short moment. 

Nureyev had only made it down half a dozen steps before Juno reached out, grabbing him by the wrist. He felt his hand might catch on fire from the touch, but braved it anyway. 

“Stay a little while longer. The flooding—and I don’t know if it’s safe to travel through the storm yet,” he definitely didn’t plead. 

“My darling,” Nureyev began so sweetly that Juno worried he might faint. “I was only going to check to see if your laundry dried. If you’re that concerned, though, you might as well come with me.”

Nureyev stepped aside to make room on the stairway for two. Hand in hand and pretending it was for balance or chivalry or whatever excuse Juno could muster, they made their way down the steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knew I could squeeze a couple's ikea furniture argument into a fantasy/fairy tale au? 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!! Make sure to smash that kudos button, leave a comment down below, and don't forget to stay awesome!!
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric !!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No content warnings for this one, lads!! Enjoy some Princess Bride references :D

The rain ebbed and flowed for weeks, but when it finally stopped, Juno said the mud would render the forest a swamp. Safe travel would be impossible for the time being. When the mud dried, there was the larger impact of the storm to be considered. Even if the flooding and mud in the tower’s vicinity were gone, that didn’t mean the entire forest would have completely recovered from the storm. 

When the weather gave Juno no more excuses, there was always something broken around the tower. When it seemed the entire tower was fixed, he ran out of greens in storage, and since his garden had such a late start, Nureyev would just have to travel one town over and pawn one of Juno’s old necklaces for vegetables. 

Nureyev didn’t mind, of course. At first, he had felt bad for taking up space and resources without providing anything in return. Within a few weeks, however, he was building Juno stools he didn’t need and working on a rough, hand sewn gown to surprise him for his birthday. 

After going on the run as a teen, he had sworn off manual labor so vehemently that he doubted his hands would ever show the signs of work again. However, when woodworking left the side of one finger lightly calloused, he found himself admiring the spot, rather than loathing it. He supposed there was more pleasure in work when it was done for a beloved individual, rather than a faceless lord. 

They stopped waking up on opposite sides of the bed soon after that. Nureyev couldn’t remember when he had started waking up with Juno’s head on his chest and their legs so tangled they could hardly separate. He did remember the first evening when retiring meant falling into eachothers’ arms, rather than pretending they minded waking up to an embrace. 

Nureyev had stretched out on what was usually his half of the bed. Juno curled up against his side. 

“Somebody’s cold,” Nureyev had teased at the time. He reached for a coy grin, but found nothing. Juno had stretched an arm across his torso, and it was getting incredibly difficult to think. 

“Nope,” was all Juno murmured, head buried in the fabric of Nureyev’s shirt. 

Juno’s shirt, really. Juno could only sew so many new pieces of clothing before he gave up and offered Peter free range of his closet. Some days, Nureyev could barely remember which were his to begin with. 

“Lonely?”

“Nope.”

There was a bigger question that sat in the air, heavy and unasked, but Nureyev felt that Juno’s sleepy murmur was enough of an answer. 

Nureyev’s hand shook where it fell on the small of Juno’s back. Usually, his hands were so steady and clever, but it seemed his world had decided to start spinning the moment Juno’s head righted itself on his chest. 

“G’night,” Juno said, so soft and muffled Nureyev barely heard it. 

“Goodnight, Juno,” Peter returned. 

The crown jewels lay discarded on the dresser across from the bed, winking at Nureyev in the stained glass moonlight. Months ago, he would have taken them and escaped in the night, leaving only a love letter feigning heartbreak and signed with a cherry red kiss. 

Peter forgot they were there weeks ago. He didn’t even spare a glance for them now, eyes too busy watching the silvery light from the moon play across Juno’s face. There was a pastoral beauty about him, despite the hard jaw and chiseled face so characteristic of the royal family. His dark skin was storied with scars and lines of age and his hair was already flattening on the side that pressed into Nureyev’s chest. He didn’t look like someone who would ever want to rule a kingdom. 

He looked like someone you could spend the rest of your life with and never regret a single day. 

. . . 

Nureyev had done his best to memorize the plants Juno needed most often, but learning by strictly visual means proved to be a slow process. For the time being, he helped to sort them when Juno would return from the forest’s edge with an armful of what looked to be weeds. 

“Ugh,” Juno groaned from across the room. The sound was punctuated by an unusually loud creak from the plant room’s window. “Damn thing broke again.”

Nureyev set down the dahlias he was halfway through bundling together and strode over to where Juno stood, backlit against the dawn’s light. 

“What seems to be the issue?”

Juno sighed, exasperated. “I think the frame of the window broke again.”

Nureyev took Juno’s hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

“I can fix that.”

Juno raised an eyebrow. 

“Are you sure? I remember how well the last time you fixed something went,” Juno snorted, though Peter waved him off. 

“I’ve gotten far better,” he insisted. 

“So long as it goes better than the last time you tried to cook—” Juno began, his teasing grin cut off by Nureyev’s glare. 

It hadn’t been a horrible experience, really. Nureyev was sure under different circumstances, or perhaps, just with a different teacher, things would have turned out better. Juno had insisted on guiding his hands with his own, however, and the feeling of Juno pressed against his back and those lovely hands trailing over his own made it very hard to do anything successfully. 

Peter had been exiled to the chopping board after the meal proved almost inedible. He didn’t mind, however. Kitchen knives weren’t too different from defensive knives, it seemed, though he would have offered to do any job if it meant more time spent with his lady. 

He wondered at times if Juno was being a little excessive with the errands he requested. Nureyev was almost certain he could put on his own necklaces, though he certainly wouldn’t turn away the offer. 

It took Nureyev hours to realize the object of his initial heist was hanging around Juno’s neck one evening. When he did remember, however, he could only spare a thought for how lovely the dark blue color shone against his skin. 

“Nureyev,” Juno began one afternoon, voice a little strained from standing on the tips of his toes. Only after Peter installed the beams across the ceiling of the plant room did they realize Juno struggled to reach the watering cans that hung from them. “Could you grab me that pitcher?”

“I think I might just have to build you another stool for your plant room, if that one’s not tall enough,” Peter teased, setting aside a bundle of thorned flowers and striding over to aid him. 

It wasn’t a particularly far reach, and Nureyev suspected Juno would be able to complete it himself without a boost from the stool. However, he was too busy meeting Juno’s wide-eyed gaze to wonder about his intentions for long. He hadn’t even spared a glance for the pitcher until it was low enough to pass into Juno’s hand. 

As if some spell was broken, they returned to their respective work, though Juno pricked himself on a few more thorns than usual when going about his gardening. 

The next day, Nureyev slept late, or at least pretended to. Juno somehow had the fortitude to drag himself out of bed, giving Peter’s hand a little squeeze when he didn’t follow suit. 

“Sick?” he yawned. Nureyev merely nodded. 

He wasn’t, at least not in the traditional way a person would fall ill. His symptoms included a great nervousness, a need for more time, and a single question that hung so thick in the air he could taste it. 

After what seemed to be an hour of pacing around the tiny room, words and phrases and a thousand different ways to say the exact same thing dancing his head, he finally took a deep breath. He looked himself in the mirror, and decided the answer to what he so dearly wanted to ask wouldn’t change if he asked it one way or another. 

Nureyev was halfway to the plant room when he realized he was wearing entirely Juno’s clothes. That made him feel a bit better as well. 

“Juno,” he finally began as he pushed the door open. “I’ve been sick before, but never like this.”

Juno rushed to his side and muscled him into a chair before he could even start his spiel. 

“Symptoms?” Juno demanded, tone an anger that only appeared when he was desperately trying to mask worry. 

“I—-” Nureyev began, swallowing and doing his best to think with those dark, clever eyes moving over his face. “I’ve been experiencing a shortness of breath, abnormally fast heart rate, trembling hand, sweaty palms, dilated pupils…”

He trailed off as Juno narrowed his eyes. 

“I’m just afraid there’s no cure for such a thing,” Nureyev soldiered on, though any further speech was cut off by Juno’s eye roll. 

“Just kiss me already,” Juno laughed, pulling Nureyev out of the chair by his collar. 

Peter couldn’t argue with that if he wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Props to anyone who caught the Holes reference in there ;D 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!! Make sure to smash that kudos button, leave a comment down below, and don't forget to stay awesome!!
> 
> Yell at me on tumblr @ hopeless-eccentric!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit of a doozy. Have fun!!
> 
> Content warnings for blood, injury, violence, mentions of past abuse, mentions of gaslighting, mentions of hostage scenarios, pursuit, eye trauma, general past Sarah Steel

“Juno,” Nureyev panted, unsure if that uncharacteristic panic or the sprint up the stairwell had stolen his breath. Juno muscled him through the door and into a chair before he had much time to compose himself. 

“I’ve told you not to run up those stairs. Never goes well,” Juno chided, already checking him over for physical injury. 

“There’s something of great importance I need to tell you,” Nureyev breathed. 

“So you ran up all the stairs.” 

Nureyev barely had it in him to glare, still bent double over his chair and chasing breath it seemed he could not catch. 

“What happened?”

He couldn’t see Juno’s face, but he could hear that it had fallen. Juno took him by the hand. Though it did little to assist him in cooling down, the tight squeeze to his newly trembling fingers was grounding enough that he found it in him to speak. 

“Juno,” he began, those two syllables so sweet and so shaky that it just about broke Juno’s heart. “I have always been honest with you, but I’m afraid I might have withheld a portion of the truth.” 

Juno shook his head and began to move. For a horrible moment, Nureyev expected him to turn on his heel and leave their bed chambers altogether, and as such, he squeezed his eyes shut. He braced for some awful realization that never came. 

The mattress sunk down beside him. 

When he opened his eyes, Juno had an arm wrapped around his shoulders and a hand rubbing gentle circles into his arm. Nureyev’s weary look was met with a soft, supportive smile. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” Juno said, his voice so quiet Nureyev nearly missed it. 

“Are you sure you’re not upset with me?”

“You look like shit.”

“You have such a way with words, my love,” Peter sighed. 

“You never look like shit. I’m worried about you. If talking will make it better, talk. If not, I’ll be right here anyway,” Juno said. “You just look like you’re going through it.”

Nureyev didn’t have it in him to pretend Juno wasn’t right. 

“I know I’ve mentioned that I’ve been wanted by numerous kingdoms for almost two decades now,” he started, voice beginning to even out thanks to the comforting touch. “I don’t think I ever told you I’m wanted dead or alive.” 

Juno swallowed. 

“For what?”

“I held all the Brahman nobles hostage under threat of death until a particularly despotic lord was deposed,” Nureyev finished, wincing as if the words themselves scorched his lips. Juno took him by the hand and Peter held it so tight that his fingers started shaking once again. 

“You’re the Angel of Brahma, huh?” Juno said. Nureyev nearly jumped when he heard the smile on his lips. 

“I assume then you’re familiar enough with the rest of the story that I need not recount it,” Peter sighed. The last thing he wanted to do was relive the first time he saw familiar blood splatter on his knife. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard the story,” Juno began, his smile audibly wilting. “The part about your father—“

“Not my father,” Nureyev cut him off. When he realized just how cold his voice had gone, he softened, and swallowed. “But it’s true as well.” 

Nureyev braced for the loss of Juno’s touch entirely, but the long silence was only broken by a kiss to the top of his head.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Juno murmured, arms pulling him a little bit tighter. 

“Thank you,” Nureyev responded, unable to find a single other thing to say. 

There was a silence after that, broken only by the whistling of a distant breeze and the rustling of fabric as Juno continued to hold him like he might break at any moment. Never in his life had Peter been touched in such a way. What surprised him was how little he minded it. 

After a moment that could have been mere seconds or hours, Nureyev could feel Juno’s head shake. He pulled back for a better look at that lovely face and found it stifling an expression of amusement. 

“And to think I’m sleeping with the guy my mom was so worried about,” Juno tried his best not to laugh, though the comforting touches continued nonetheless. “I still remember a messenger barging into a council meeting. I got kicked out for saying he—you—had the right idea.” 

Maybe it was the sudden loss of that weight upon his shoulders. Maybe it was the ridiculousness of the entire situation. But Nureyev couldn’t help a chuckle at that. 

“For some reason, that isn’t hard to imagine,” he smiled, shaky and breathless and starting to feel a little bit better. 

“Not my worst. I once got engaged to a traitor taking refuge in an enemy kingdom.” 

A hand flew to Nureyev’s mouth. 

“Dear Lord.”

“By letter.” 

Nureyev let out a punched-out laugh, ugly and unexpected and the sweetest thing Juno had ever heard. 

“Please tell me you two had at least met in person,” he managed between wheezes. 

“Nope.” 

“Good God, is that what landed you in here?” 

The flame of Juno’s laughter died as if a cool draft had shot through the window. Nureyev found the room far darker without it. 

“She—“ Juno began, swallowing. 

“If you’re not ready,” Nureyev began to protest, though Juno shook his head. 

“Somebody might as well know,” he sighed. Nureyev leaned a little closer to him. “We always butted heads, but when I was a kid, I accidentally let in a spy I thought was a beggar.” 

“An innocent mistake—“

“She didn’t care,” Juno cut in. “I was the older one, and she didn’t want me as the heir, so she finally snapped, sent an assassin after me, but he—“ Juno broke off to swallow. Nureyev couldn’t see, but it sounded like he was fighting back tears. 

“Is that what really happened to your twin brother?” Nureyev prompted. Brief research of Hyperion’s politics had shown the younger of two twins dead from a mysterious, fast acting disease. Nureyev knew a covered-up assassination when he saw one. 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too,” Juno murmured. “So, I tried to make her life hell. Last straw was when I wouldn’t let her marry me off. We had a hell of a fight, then I woke up here.” 

Nureyev raised their interlocked fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss along the knuckles. 

“Thank you. It means the world to me that you’d feel comfortable trusting me with this information,” he said. Juno squeezed his hand tighter. 

“There’s just one thing bothering me,” Juno said, teeth pulling on his bottom lip in thought. 

“Yes?”

“Why’d you sprint upstairs to tell me that if you’ve been wanted for nearly two decades?” 

A shout from outside and Nureyev’s face, gray as a corpse, was Juno’s answer. 

“Did you know you were followed from the market?” Juno asked, rushing to the window for a glance down below. Nureyev shook his head. 

Juno was a vision in white, clad in the gown Nureyev had sewn him as an excuse just to stay a little longer back when they still cared about excuses. He looked like some ancient goddess, the thin, sloping folds of the fabric a lovely frame around an ethereal painting. Even with his brow furrowed in focus and his jaw set in indignant rage, he looked as if he had been carved from marble.

“Get Rita,” he said, and for a moment, Nureyev heard a shade of the military commander he might have been. “Any chance they might take you alive?” 

Nureyev was on his feet and halfway to the door before Juno was done with the sentence. He turned back around to see him loading a crossbow, jaw set and face a snarl of righteous indignation. 

Peter thought it might have been the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

“No. If I’m taken alive, they’ll just behead me later.” 

Juno nodded. 

“Tell Rita to let them fry.” 

Nureyev was already out the door when he heard Juno let loose a pair of arrows. Far below, one of his pursuers screamed. 

“Rita!” he called, feeling the tower shake with her shifting. 

“We got company, Mistah Thief!” Rita bellowed in return, so loud Peter wondered if his ears might ever recover. “Are we toasting these ones?” 

“Go ahead!” 

Nureyev wasn’t concerned when he heard the next arrow whistling through the cracked window. Rather, it was the splatter of blood and a scream from the bedroom that made him feel as if the floor had fallen out from under him. 

He threw the door open with a strength he didn’t remember possessing, hearing nothing but static and the pounding of his own heart though screams and flames and a dragon’s roar that shook the very ground itself. 

Juno was on the floor, his heaving chest the only sign he was still clinging to life. The bloody shaft of an arrow protruded from a face that for once, Nureyev could barely manage to look at. 

Peter was on his knees at Juno’s side before he knew what he was doing. 

“S-Sorry,” Juno croaked. His hand groped blindly along the stone floor in a desperate search for anything to dig his fingers into, just to distract from what had to be agony. 

Peter Nureyev wasn’t used to being helpless. There was always a plan to be made. He always had three different escape routes in the back of his mind before things could even begin to go wrong. 

But here he was, Juno’s bleeding head in his lap and not a damn thing to be done about it. All he could do for now was squeeze his hand and hope that would do anything at all to ease his pain. 

“Don’t talk,” he murmured, pausing only to swallow down what he insisted to himself wasn’t a sob. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, my love.” 

“Got this dress all bloody,” Juno choked. Nureyev could have sworn he heard his own heart breaking. 

Not much of the dress had stained, save for the neckline and sleeves. The wine red color bloomed like a rose garden left untrimmed and overflowing. All Peter could do was sit and watch as the hand embroidery he had spent hours on disappeared under the dark stain. 

“I don’t care,” he said. Usually controlling his voice was so easy, but now it trembled and sputtered where he meant to sound consoling. “I just want you to be okay, darling.” 

“Gonna have to take it out. Keep it clean. Don’t let it get infected,” Juno insisted, his hand so tight around Nureyev’s wrist that Peter couldn’t feel his fingertips. 

In all fairness, he couldn’t feel much of anything. 

“Juno,” he murmured, grieving the syllables the moment they left his lips. “My love.” 

One hand was rubbing gentle circles into Juno’s scalp now. He tried his best to ignore the blood that had trickled back into his hairline. 

“Still here,” Juno breathed. “I’ll help you where I can with the plants. Get me downstairs.” 

Nureyev managed to stand on trembling legs, Juno limp and fighting back a groan in his arms as they left the room. He couldn’t help but be reminded of how a bride might be carried across a threshold.

Perhaps, in another kinder world, that might have been them. Juno, clad in even lovelier white, would make a bad joke and Nureyev would laugh until his sides ached. They would celebrate new beginnings with abandon and mock such things as injury and death. They would balk at the idea that in some different, crueller world, they might be in pain. 

He didn’t have time to think about the stabbing sensation in his chest at that thought. 

“I love you,” Juno murmured, voice straining as he clung to Peter’s sleeve.

“I love you too,” Nureyev managed to say without breaking down right then and there. “I swear to you, someday I’ll get you out of here, even if it’s just for a short while. Just a little adventure to clear your head.”

Juno tried his best to smile. 

“Sounds nice.”

“We’ll steal crown jewels from somewhere else or find treasure or—” Nureyev broke off at the sight of Juno’s grimace. A particularly rough step down the stairway had shifted the arrow, and it was clear Juno was using all the fortitude he had not to cry out. 

“I’m okay,” Juno said so harshly it was almost a shout. He repeated himself several times, words beginning to slur and wane in volume. Peter couldn’t tell whether he was trying to convince Nureyev or himself. 

“Stay with me,” Nureyev heard himself say, eyes mercifully dry in the sudden focus taking over his mind. “I can’t lose you.” 

“If I go—“ 

“Juno, don’t—“

They were mere feet from the plant room now. The solution to all of this was so close he could taste it, even if no solid plan had yet taken shape in his head. 

“I’m not worried,” Juno continued. Nureyev could tell he was becoming delirious. “I’ll always have my knight in stolen armor to kiss me back to life.” 

Before Nureyev could respond, he felt Juno go limp in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned to find out what happens tomorrow >:)
> 
> I cried a little while writing this ngl
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!! Make sure to smash that kudos button, leave a comment down below, and don't forget to stay awesome!!
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr for what I did @hopeless-eccentric !!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOWEE sorry for the cliffhanger last time folks!!
> 
> Content warnings for blood, eye trauma, infection, coma, self hatred, grief, fever

“I cooked dinner today,” Nureyev began. “Rita said I’m improving, though I suspect she might just be saying that to make me feel better.” 

Juno didn’t respond. 

“And I finally got that stain out of your dress. It took a few more washes than I would usually bother doing, but I thought you would want it cleaned,” he added. 

Juno didn’t respond.

“I made bread, too. I left it in just a few minutes longer than usual, just the way you like it. I know I bake just about as well as I cook, but I’ve been improving. I just thought you would like to hear that.” 

Nureyev feared Juno would never respond again. 

It was Rita who saved his life, really. Nureyev hadn’t the time nor the focus to learn medicine the way Juno wanted to teach him. While he fought back panic, Rita described the different plants and what to do with them and how to make sure Juno didn’t lose too much blood. 

Nureyev had never seen that much blood before in his entire life. It seemed to take hours to wash off of his hands and clothes. It took even longer to wash that image of Juno, limp and gray and bleeding, from his mind. 

They couldn’t save Juno’s eye, but he somehow came out of the ordeal alive. He spent a day or two awake after the ordeal, laughing dazedly at Nureyev’s shaky flirtations and Rita’s bad jokes, even if he was too tired and sore to leave his bed. 

Then there had been the infection and the caricature of sleep and two months without moving, and Nureyev could barely remember what optimism felt like anymore. He could parody it to his heart’s content, but that wouldn’t make Juno get any better. 

At the very least, what was left of Juno looked peaceful now. He wore a sundress he said was his favorite, arms lain at his sides and covers pulled up to his waist. Nureyev had considered folding his hands over his chest or stomach, but decided against it. Juno looked enough like a corpse already. 

Rita spared a vase from her collection for their windowsill and told him which flowers were Juno’s favorites. The first few weeks, the bouquet of roses and dahlias had bloomed just as bright as the lady himself. However, as weeks stretched into months, the flowers started to go out of season and wither. 

Nureyev knew Juno wouldn’t respond to him that evening. A part of him feared he’d never hear that lovely voice again. Dwelling, however, wouldn’t fix anything, so he pressed his nightly kiss to Juno’s forehead and climbed into bed beside him. Laying like this, he could almost pretend all that separated them was sleep. 

However, their bed felt dense and cold, like laying atop a gravestone. 

Nureyev sighed and sat upright once more. In his hunched state, he felt he didn’t have the energy to do much more than stare at a random point on Juno’s desk and think. 

Though his eyes were trained upon the long forgotten crown jewels, he couldn’t spare a single thought for them. 

Instead, he considered where he might sleep instead if he couldn’t find comfort in his own bed. He had slept on the floor before, wrapped in a carpet or whatever spare bed sheets he could find. Had the floor beneath not been stone and had an early autumn chill not begun to seep into the tower, this might have been almost comfortable. In hindsight, he would have taken a sleepless night to one bent painfully at the foot of the bed, just in case Juno might wake. 

Once or twice, he considered sleeping in a kitchen chair or some other place closer to the fire that Rita kept stoked. However, he never acted upon the urge. Though he might pace outside the room some nights, he never had it in him to go far. 

With sleep evading him any way he looked at it, Nureyev decided it was best to go on a walk and make another pathetic attempt to clear his head. When he rolled out of bed and made his way to the door, the cold began to cling to him like a crawling ivy. He pulled Juno’s robe a little tighter around his shoulders and braced against the draft, trying to purge his mind of the lovely lady and his clever swordsmanship the day they met. 

The door stayed ajar, just in case. 

Nureyev didn’t go far. He was on the opposite side of the top spiral when he sat down. From his angle, he could just make out the silhouette of his partner, backlit against the stained glass window. When that became too hard to look at, he sat down on the edge of the stairs, legs hanging over into the void and eyes trained far above. 

There was a nice view of the stars from here. Large, open windows decorated the top few floors of the tower, big enough for a dragon to enter or exit. He doubted their original purpose had seen much use. Now, they mostly served as gaping murals displaying the colors of the sky above. 

Nureyev couldn’t help but wonder how many sleepless nights Juno, decades younger, had sat in the same spot as him and watched the same stars and planets whirl in the great purple expanse above. 

Any other day, he might have been lulled to sleep by the smell of a loved one’s robe and the dazzling stars, but the stone on his back and the sound of shuffling parchment numerous stories below kept him cruelly grounded in the moment. 

Besides, the robe had stopped smelling like Juno weeks ago. 

“Miss Rita,” he finally began in a voice so small he doubted she would hear. 

“Yeah, Mistah Thief?” 

She sounded like she’d been crying. 

“How did Juno get the scar across his nose?” 

Nureyev felt a rumbling from below as Rita shifted, scrabbling up the walls of the tower like a bat until she could perch close enough to have a decent conversation with him. Peter had seldom seen her in her entirety, as she was often partially buried under her hoard.

She seemed almost smaller now, head cocking to the side like a curious dog as she thought over the question. Nureyev couldn’t believe he’d ever been afraid of her. 

“Huh,” she started, her voice soft. They had spent so much time speaking in hushed tones, as if afraid to wake a person who badly needed sleep. By now, it was just a habit. “I think that one’s from a bar fight.”

A weak smile bloomed across Nureyev’s face. He had missed this Juno, who was rough and petulant and so much more than the idolized shadow of a lady Peter kept alive in his head. 

“What about the one on his right arm?” 

“He had a carpentry accident the first time he tried to fix the bed,” Rita sniffed. “The frame thingy broke once when I shook the tower too much. I saw a mean lookin’ knight and got a little too excited.”

“What did he do when he didn’t have a bed?” Nureyev continued, looking for ideas as much as he was trying to learn all the things he might never get the chance to ask again. 

There were a million more things he wanted to learn about Juno Steel. If he couldn’t hear them from the lady himself, this was the next best thing. 

“He used my tail as a pillow,” Rita said, and burst into tears so large they made a sound like pattering rain when they collided with her teacups far below. 

“Miss Rita,” he began, still dry-eyed, though his head buzzed as numbly as ever. “I promise you, he’s going to be okay.” 

Rita, who was wiping her eyes on a spare bedsheet, paused. 

“You really think that, Mistah Thief?” 

Nureyev nodded. 

“He has to be.” 

. . . 

“I’ll always have my knight in stolen armor to kiss me back to life.” 

The words had been ringing in his head like a gong’s ghostly echo for weeks now. They very well could be the last thing Juno ever said. 

Nureyev hated that his last coherent moment was the surety that he would be able to save him. 

Peter Nureyev wasn’t a patient man. When trouble arose, he disappeared, weaving a new name and persona from air and taking off to another temporary safe haven. When messes were made, he made a clean escape, leaving nothing behind but the memory of a thief without a name. 

Mere months ago, he had never expected to live a life different from the one of crime and transience he had known since childhood. Home meant a place he was from and would never return to, and sanctuary meant a roof to sleep underneath. 

Falling in love was never part of the plan. He had half a dozen different plots to steal the crown jewels and slip out in the middle of the night back when the storm still raged, but then Juno started waking up in his arms and home became a person, rather than a place. 

On the days so bad Peter barely had it in him to roll out of bed, he wished it had never happened at all. Juno might live a long and happy life, devoid of injury. He would never have to bear the scars of a warrant two decades old, nor would he face the burden of Nureyev’s incompetence. 

He could have saved Juno. 

Juno had been so sure of it that his last words had even been a joke. Nureyev missed when that thought would have been a stab in the chest, rather than a brief peak in the static he had been feeling almost nonstop for two months. 

While sleeping in the bed proved too difficult, Nureyev found sitting at Juno’s side was a little less painful. When he had free moments, he would stroke the back of Juno’s hand, lingering over the scars he knew well and those he had never noticed before. He would fix his hair where the breeze had blown it astray and pretend he heard his beloved hum in response. 

Awake or asleep, Juno was a goddess. Nureyev would worship him either way. 

“Knight in stolen armor,” he murmured to himself, barely aware the words had crossed the barrier between his mind and his lips. 

If there was one thing he hated even more than waiting or incompetence, it was helplessness. 

Helplessness had reduced him to pacing at night instead of sleeping and doting over a body that would likely never wake. There was no plan to be made. He couldn’t just disappear. A new name wouldn’t make this problem vanish into thin air. The only person he wanted to be right now was Peter Nureyev, and the only place he wanted to be was at Juno’s side. 

The closest thing he had to a way out was that little joke that felt more and more like a last resort with every passing day. 

Nureyev couldn’t see any other option anymore. 

He squeezed Juno’s hand, leaned forward, and kissed him, soft and slow and sweet. Any moment now, he’d feel those fingers twitch against his and feel a soft sigh against his lips. Those strong arms would be holding him tight before he knew it, and he and his beloved would smile and share an inside joke or two and everything would be right again. Juno Steel would wake up and slay that great, cold beast that had made Peter Nureyev’s chest its lair. 

Nothing. 

Juno’s hand stayed still. His unbandaged eye stayed shut. His lips didn’t even yield against Nureyev’s touch. 

Peter Nureyev, as a rule, did not cry. He had very nearly choked up upon Juno’s initial injury, but in his focus and forced optimism and the futile insistence that this wouldn’t be for long, he had forced his eyes to remain dry. Displaying emotions wouldn’t do anything to fix their root causes. 

With his head buried in Juno’s chest and the now rolling tears wetting his sundress, however, Nureyev didn’t particularly care. 

“You promised—“ he started, though he muffled the rest of his sentence behind the hand that had so recently been cupping Juno’s cheek. 

The chest under his still shifted with breath, shallow and erratic as ever. It did nothing to console him. His quaking arms wrapped around Juno’s chest, as if holding him tighter might somehow coax him into living again. He barely noticed the hand rubbing gentle circles into his back until his sobs had begun to die away. 

“You’re okay,” someone was saying, his other hand moving to run through Nureyev’s overgrown hair. “Breathe.” 

“Juno,” Nureyev gasped. He opened his mouth to say something else, though he found only the most powerful of his thoughts able to manifest into words. “My love.”

“I’m here,” Juno croaked, grimacing a little at the groggy sound of his voice. “Are you okay?” 

“You were out for two months,” Peter murmured, words muffled by Juno’s shoulder. He tried and failed to pull Juno closer, relishing the purposeful sound of his breaths and the tiny shifting of his hands. Those minuscule gestures spoke of life. 

“Oh God, I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Peter said, astonished he could find any words to say at all. 

“Nureyev, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry before,” Juno noticed. Nureyev merely nodded. 

“I missed you.”

Nureyev rolled back over to his side of the bed. Though separating ached like a physical wound, Juno likely needed the breathing room. 

On the bright side, he now had a view of Juno’s face. Even half-concealed behind his bandages, it was radiant, bringing a light to the entire room that Nureyev hadn’t noticed was missing. His brow was furrowed and his bottom lip between his teeth, and Peter felt a warmth in his chest like he was falling in love with him all over again. 

“Where did you go?” Juno muttered, his words were half a groan as he propped himself up against the headboard. 

“I’m here,” Nureyev returned, his words half a question until he realized he was on the bandaged side of Juno’s face. “Turn your head to the right, love.”

Juno’s hand brushed along the bandages as he turned, brow still knit. He seemed to relax a little at the sight of Nureyev across the mattress from him, still doing his best to hide his bloodshot eyes and the occasional sniff. 

“We couldn’t save your eye,” Peter started, halfway to apologizing when Juno shook his head. 

“Just getting my bearings. I’ll just have to get used to it.”

Nureyev gave his wrist a little squeeze. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Weird. A little dizzy,” Juno groaned with the effort of sitting up straighter. Nureyev offered him help, but was waved away. “I don’t remember putting this dress on.”

Peter went red. “The last one was—ah—stained, so I—”

“Got it,” Juno swooped in to save him. “Thank you.”

“I’ll have you know, I’ve gotten a good bit better at laundry. And, believe it or not, I’m quite the mediocre chef,” Peter chuckled. 

It had been so long since he had done that. 

“Holy shit. How long did that take?” Juno snorted. 

“Until about a week ago, though Rita’s compliments may have just been her way of trying to make me feel better,” he smiled. 

“She’d tell you if it was bad. You’re just being hard on yourself.”

“She had to deal with my cooking for two months, Juno. I think that changes you as an individual,” Nureyev said. The sound of Juno’s laughter, ringing through the room like a wedding bell, was enough to make him tear up once more. 

“I’m sorry—” Juno started, but Nureyev chuckled, wiped his eyes, and waved him off. 

“It’s been a long two months.”

“I can tell,” Juno returned. “Did you mean to grow your hair out?”

Nureyev reached a hand up to feel where his hair had grown to his shoulders. It had been a little shaggy to begin with, as he had yet to figure out how to cut it with the tower’s resources. He had barely noticed the change as it happened, too focused on counting hours and days until Juno awoke. 

“Oh good Lord,” he began, an embarrassed laugh bubbling from his lips. 

“I kinda like it. If you don’t want to keep it, I won’t force you, but damn,” Juno laughed. “It—uh—looks really nice. Kinda debonair.”

Nureyev rolled his eyes, though the kiss he soon pressed to Juno’s forehead betrayed his annoyance as feigned. He had made that gesture every night for two months now, at first to check his fever and as time wore on, just in the hopes that deep down, wherever he was, Juno might not feel utterly alone in his suffering. 

“I’ve been caring for you for two months, and this is how you greet me,” Peter teased. Juno gave him a gentle shove, likely as much as he could manage for the time being. “You’re insufferable.”

Juno snorted. “You love it.”

“I think there’s someone else who ought to hear the happy news,” Nureyev pressed on, as much as he could have laid in bed and joked with Juno for the rest of his life. 

Though it pained him to do so, he got to his feet and made his way to Juno’s side. He was glad he moved when he did, however, as Juno was already trying and failing to stand on legs that had not borne weight for several months. 

“Easy, Juno. Take your time,” Nureyev instructed through gritted teeth as he caught his partner from falling. Juno made an appreciative noise as Peter wrapped a supportive arm around his waist. 

“Is she okay?” Juno all but demanded. His weight remained where it had crashed into Nureyev’s chest. Peter gingerly straightened him out, doing his best to hide winces at the audible cracking of his joints. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Rita’s alright.”

With great time and effort, Nureyev pulled the door open and guided them both into the hall. Before he could so much as announce their presence, however, Juno’s face had split into a grin. 

“Rita!” Juno called, straining his voice to the point of breaking. The crack sounded painful, but he didn’t seem to care. 

A thunderous “MISTAH STEEL!” shook the tower to its very foundations, and Nureyev briefly wondered if the structure was coming apart when both of them were hoisted from the ground. 

When he regained his bearings, he saw they were merely in a pink and scaley grasp that was in turn, cradled tight to a sobbing dragon’s chest. 

“Mistah Steel, I thought you was dead—” Rita sniffed, squeezing them both a little tighter when Juno gave one claw a sympathetic pat. 

“I’m okay, Rita.”

“And me and Mistah Thief were so worried about you, and he said you were gonna be okay but he looked so dang sad all the time and I didn’t think that was a good thing but you’re alive and you’re okay and—” Rita broke off for an earth-shattering gasp of air. 

“Rita!” Juno yelled again. 

“Sorry, boss.”

Juno grinned. “No need. How ‘bout putting us both down? It’s a little rude to squeeze a lady to death right after he almost died.”

Nureyev was still clutching onto Juno when they hit a pile of scrolls below. He didn’t think he ever wanted to let go again. 

“Are you alright?” he checked. 

“Best I’ve been in a while, from what I’m hearing.” 

“Juno,” Nureyev chided, though he was unable to help a grin. He had forgotten how nice those syllables felt on his lips, like cool water to a parched throat. 

“So, Nureyev, what about that adventure you promised me?”

Nureyev cut him off with an affectionate glare. 

“The one I mentioned while you were dying in my arms?”

“Please?”

Nureyev sighed. “Maybe when you’re completely healed, I’ll consider it,” he conceded. “In the meantime, you had better not do anything that could get you injured. I’ve worried enough about you for a lifetime.”

“Guess I’ll just have to stay here and spend more time with you,” Juno pretended to complain. 

“I suppose so,” Nureyev smiled. He covered Juno’s hand with his own, heart swelling at the warmth and subtle movement in those fingertips. When he could bear only the simple touch no longer, he took the hand in his and pressed a kiss to Juno’s knuckles. 

“Always the gentleman,” Juno teased, as if he minded at all. 

“Always, for my lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BLESS thank you all so much for sticking through this whole thing!! It's been a wild ride my dudes but a good one I hope!!
> 
> Thankfully, I'm incapable of writing sad endings. 
> 
> Thank you all SO MUCH for reading!! Make sure to smash that kudos button, leave a like down below, and don't forget to stay awesome!!
> 
> My tumblr is @hopeless-eccentric if y'all want to come yell at/with me!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! Make sure to leave comments and kudos below!!
> 
> My tumblr is @hopeless-eccentric if you want to come yell at me for this!!


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